Kiss, Kill
by not the bees
Summary: What if, instead of Dumbledore, Voldemort has Draco kill Hermione Granger in his Sixth Year?
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: I love Dramione like there's no tomorrow, so I plucked up the courage to start my own story. I'm kind of nervous, but I hope you like it :)_

* * *

Chapter 1: You will teach her a lesson

* * *

There was a storm in his ears. The noise was deafening. He pressed one hand to his forehead and wiped the beads of sweat. He kept his head bowed. By now, he could feel his father's piercing gaze on his back.

"Now, Draco. Tell me. Is it settled? Would you like to kill the Mudblood for me?"

The voice was soft and deadly sweet, like a whisper in the night. Draco felt his blood turn to ice. He held in a breath and looked up.

Lord Voldemort was expecting an answer. One word. One single word. Spoken loud and clear.

The face with no features would haunt him in his nightmares. But more than anything, his own face, at that moment, reflected in a mirror, would shatter him.

He smiled a terrified smile and nodded his head.

"Yes, my Lord. Of course."

His father shifted in his seat. Draco wondered if Lucius was proud or simply indifferent.

"Good, Draco. Very good," the Dark Lord continued in the same wispy voice. "You will teach her a lesson, I'm sure."

Draco was now breathing normally. He was picturing it; standing over Granger's body while she lay still and frozen. It wasn't so bad. In fact, it was a little satisfying. She would finally shut her know-it-all mouth. She wouldn't be able to talk back to him or any other Slytherin again. He wouldn't have to see her parading around with Weasley and Potter like they owned the school. He would not be second best anymore.

"And then I will know you are ready," Voldemort finished swiftly.

Hadn't he wanted this in his Second Year? To see her get eaten by the monster in the chamber? This was no different. Except now, he wasn't a child anymore. He didn't believe in monsters locked up in chambers. He believed in the monsters found within.

* * *

His mother came to his room that night. Her face was a tight mask of concern and apprehension.

She started speaking fast, lest he were to stop her.

"Draco. I have been thinking about...about this year. You're starting school soon. But I don't know if Hogwarts is safe anymore. Hadn't we better move you to Durmstrang? You will finish your education there and it will be better for you –"

Draco tried to school his features into placid indifference. "I don't suppose Father knows about this."

"No...no, I haven't told him yet, but if we both spoke to him, he would agree." Her face was both hopeful and miserable. She knew it was pointless changing things now, but she was trying anyway.

Draco hated when she cried.

"But _I_ wouldn't agree," he said quickly, putting on a brave face. "Mother. You know I have to do it. I _want_ to do it."

Narcissa clasped her hands together and sighed wearily. "You don't have to pretend with me."

Draco flushed angrily. "Why would I pretend? Believe what you will, but I've always wanted my chance and now I have it. I'm not going to throw it away."

Narcissa shook her head, her face crumpling with worry. "I know you don't like that girl. You used to complain about how horrid she is. She's always been an enemy. But from this to ...well, it's a big step, my love."

"No. It's – it's only the logical conclusion. She's a Mudblood. Potter's best friend, to boot. And a horrible nuisance. Now, or later, she will die. It makes no difference."

Narcissa gazed at her son with all the reproach she could muster. It wasn't much. On the surface of things, she was supposed to be very proud he had got his Mark.

"I hope you know that you can come to me if you need me. Write or visit or – just know I am here. I'll always be here."

Draco clenched his jaw. Her eyelashes were wet. There was so much love in her eyes. It disturbed him. It made him weak. He rose from his chair and walked her to the door.

"All I need is for you to trust me, Mother," he said in a clipped voice.

Narcissa tightened her hold on his elbow. "It's not you I don't trust."

* * *

His father's only advice was, "Stealth, Draco. Remember whose son you are. _Don't _be stupid. And _don't _hesitate."

He repeated the words in his head until he grew sick. _Don't be stupid, don't be stupid, don't be stupid... _

Lucius was too preoccupied, however, with impending events at the Ministry to give Draco his full attention. He supposed this was flattering; his father trusted him to be strong and smart enough to get this done without any external help.

He was counting down the days until summer would be over, both dreading and yearning for the start of his mission.

At night, he dreamt of her, kneeling in front of him, begging for her life, crying and grovelling. Her bushy hair would be sopping wet with her tears. Her otherwise haughty face would be meek and frightened.

He always awoke with a sense of incompletion. He liked the way she cowered in front of him, but he wanted more. He wanted to be in complete control. He wanted to have all the power over her. If he was going to kill her, he was going to do it right. Her arrogance would be bent into submission.

He wondered how it would go; fast and clean, or slow and dirty?

These thoughts entertained him and made the task seem more enticing and less difficult.

He could not say yet if he would enjoy killing, but he _would_ enjoy taking the Mudblood down.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Sorry for the long absence, I've been away from home and the internet and didn't have much time to write. Some of the events in this chapter will not follow the book closely, so be ready for some AU territory. I hope you like it :)  
_

* * *

Chapter 2: Perhaps there never had been any stars

* * *

The first of September came too soon. He had not yet formed a plan as to how he would kill Granger. He had time, _plenty_ of time. Still, he felt nervous knowing that he might see her on the train. Would he feel compelled to throw the Killing Curse at her, to get it over with?

_No_. Merlin, no. He had more patience and reason than that.

The problem was, you could not really kill Granger outright. She was, begrudgingly, a very capable witch. He hated how she always got top marks, but he already knew it wasn't just theory she was good at. Her wand skills were not negligible. The previous year had proven that to him. He was still convinced she was the real leader of the Order of The Phoenix. Potter could barely hold up his wand, much less _teach_ someone else to do it.

So, one had to be smart and crafty to get to her. One had to be a Slytherin.

He had to find the most efficient way to kill her and preferably, not get caught.

* * *

His mother wanted to see him off at the train station, but Draco refused. Having her there would only weaken his resolve. He might bolt back in her direction, which would be downright humiliating. Better to eliminate the temptation.

Of course, he would not run. He would _not_ be a coward.

His father sent him no word. He was still standing trial at the Ministry, trying to shorten his sentence in Azkaban, while also making sure his presence remained ever powerful within the institution. Only Lucius Malfoy could achieve both at the same time.

So, he found himself utterly alone on Platform 9 and ¾ , watching the happy crowd of familiar faces rush past him into the carriages. They all looked so young, so carefree, exchanging jokes, swapping Chocolate Frog Cards, bragging about their holiday trips and their new broomsticks; things which he might have enjoyed years ago.

Now it all left him feeling empty. He was forever cut off from this world.

He was not looking forward to meeting his Slytherin cronies. Pansy was still upset he had not written to her during the summer and Theo would just harp on about his father's new acquisitions. Supposedly, he had also received the Mark. If he had, he would probably be very smug and glib about it, which Draco could not stand. Crabbe and Goyle were mercifully too stupid to receive the Mark. He did not know whether that was enviable or pitiable. As for Blaise - his Italian friend was bound to question his choice, but he had no right to judge him. His position was not threatened by a father who risked a life sentence. Draco had done what was right for his future. What was good for his family. How many people could say that?

He had been standing like a ghost on the edge of the Platform for too long. Pushing his way haughtily, he climbed up the steps into one of the carriages.

He did not have to wait long. Two Third-Year Slytherin lackeys that wanted to get close to his inner circle quickly grabbed his trunk and expensive leather voyage case and promised to have them delivered to his friends' compartment.

Before he could turn around and follow them, he heard someone click their tongue behind him.

He started. It was her.

Granger was standing in the corridor, watching him from underneath a flurry of bushy hair. Potter and Weasley had walked on ahead but she had stayed behind. Her eyebrows were knitted in disapproval and her mouth was screwed up in a frown. She obviously thought it was _wrong_ of him to have minions.

When their eyes met, she quickly turned away as if she had been caught staring by a professor. She shuffled awkwardly into a compartment and disappeared without a word.

Draco would have scowled or spat something derisive at her. _What are you looking at, Mudblood? Jealous that my trunk is worth more than you?_

But the shock of seeing her after a summer of contemplating her death had rendered him silent. He clenched his fists, straightened his suit, and stomped towards the opposite end of the train.

* * *

"You could have told me you were _busy_."

Draco flinched as the sunrays hit his eyes, almost making them water. He pulled the curtains roughly and the scenery disappeared behind a grey cover. He was on edge, but why he was so tense he could not tell. Perhaps it was Pansy interrogating him. The air in the compartment felt stale.

"I already apologized, haven't I? I don't intend to do it a second time. You'd do well to remember we are not officially together," he retorted, leaning back in his seat, his mind far away.

Pansy scowled and looked down at her manicured nails.

"Maybe not, but I'm sure your mother thinks otherwise."

Draco flinched. The casual mention of his parents made his jaw lock in anger.

"Narcissa told my mother that she would be very happy if you spent Christmas with me," Pansy continued, oblivious to Draco's temper.

She skilfully avoided talking about Lucius, but her impish smile seemed to imply that she knew all too well the position his son was in.

A position in which it would not be wise to reject connections.

Blaise noticed Draco's eyes had grown rather dark. He placed a warning hand on Pansy's shoulder.

"What? It's the truth!" she exclaimed. "See, he always gets like that when I mention his parents, but they only want what's best for him, and so do I –"

_Thump!_

Draco had hit the small table with his fist sending the _Daily Prophet_ flying to the floor.

"I don't _care_ about Christmas. And frankly, I don't give a shit what my mother told you. I have more important things on my mind than our bloody relationship."

"And what _are_ those important things?" Blaise asked, momentarily startling him. He had arched an eyebrow and was staring straight at the sleeve of his dark suit.

Draco swallowed and looked away.

"Nothing that would concern _you_. Let's just say, I'm not looking forward to another dull year at Hogwarts with the rest of the idiots on this train."

Pansy felt affronted to be included in the equation, but Blaise only smiled knowingly. Draco could not hide from him entirely, and he both hated the dark-skinned boy and liked him for it.

"Fair enough. I, for one, am not looking forward to another Slug Club meeting," Blaise confessed, trying to mollify him. He had just returned from one such meeting, hosted by their new House Head, Professor Slughorn.

"Who would, to be honest?" Pansy replied, eager to change the subject. "If you're stuck with the likes of Longbottom and Weasley."

"Not to mention Potter," Blaise remarked humorously.

Draco sneered. "Of course, Slughorn wanted a closer look at precious Potter, the Chosen One."

"I suppose I get the appeal, but the Weasley girl? Merlin, it's a surprise he didn't also invite the Mudblood," Pansy commented, snickering.

Draco froze, feeling the muscles in his abdomen clench unexpectedly. He measured his breaths carefully, afraid he might betray himself and his purpose.

"She's not in the Club?" he asked with feigned nonchalance.

"Not yet," Blaise sighed, "but the way Slughorn is going at it, inviting people left and right..."

Just then, the compartment door flew open and Theo walked in, slumping down next to Draco with a large grin on his face.

"Well, lads, guess who's got something _you_ nitwits don't."

Draco rolled his eyes. Theo was going to brag about the Mark, but instead of coming out and saying so, he would try to make them guess.

For his part, Draco didn't have to say anything. Blaise had understood all too well and Pansy would too, in time. _Real_ Death Eaters managed to be menacing without words. That is what he intended to do.

Theo prattled on about a secret "mission" he had embarked on with a "secret" society.

Draco closed his eyes and thought back to the moment on the corridor when he had spotted Granger watching him. She had been her usual self; scandalized at his privilege, nosy and judgemental. So stupidly naive of his intentions. If only she knew what he would have to do to her... He shuddered in anticipation and fear.

He had to catch her alone, without those cumbersome blockheads she called friends. There would not be many opportunities at Hogwarts, but off school grounds he might be more successful. If she got invited to that stupid Slug Club, all the better. In any case, he had to get close enough to her to catch her at an unguarded moment.

An inexplicable thrill of excitement rushed through him when he pictured her surprised expression. She would be completely floored when he revealed to her what he was going to do. She had always thought she was better than him in all ways, and now, he would prove her wrong.

He would prove to her, finally, that he was strong and powerful and cunning –

_No, I have nothing to prove to __**her**_, he realized_. I have only to prove myself to Father. And the Dark Lord._

* * *

Hours later, when the sun had disappeared behind the hills and darkness had descended upon the sky, he sat very still and listened to the sounds of the train carrying him to Hogwarts, to another tedious year of his existence. Crabbe and Goyle were eating noisily, noses stuck in comics, while Pansy, Theo and Blaise talked among themselves about changes at the Ministry.

Yet, despite the conversation din and tinny clatter of trolleys and wheels, he could hear something distinct nearby. Something which did not belong to anyone in the compartment.

A foreign breath.

It was coming from somewhere above.

It made his hair stand and his skin prickle. Could Voldemort's ubiquitous presence have found its way here, next to him, on the train? Was it the Mark, making him hear things?

He could _not_ be afraid.

For a moment, he thought it might be _her_. He thought he was hearing her breathing, but he quickly dismissed it as lunacy. The year had not even properly begun, and he was already growing a bit mad. His task was _simple_. It was Granger, after all. No one he cared for, no one he even tolerated.

As the train slowly pulled to a stop and students got up and grabbed their luggage, the breathing, instead of growing fainter, seemed to fill up his ears.

He sat very still and watched as the rest of the world shuffled towards the doors.

Pansy threw him a questioning look.

"Draco?"

"Go ahead. I'll catch up."

"Are you all right -?"

"Yes. Now _go_. I will be down shortly," he replied crisply.

Blaise pulled Pansy away, whispering something in her ear. Draco could already guess it was nothing good, but that worked to his advantage. She and everyone else _should_ fear him.

As the compartment doors flew open, he heard distant, cacophonous sounds of shrill laughter and shouting. From afar, they almost sounded like cries of pain.

He got up and leaned against the door frame, but the breathing did not go any further than that.

He was about to turn around, when he heard a soft voice in the dwindling crowd.

"Where's Harry? He was supposed to be back by now."

Draco glanced ahead and saw Granger staring down the corridor with a worried look on her face.

_Potter_, he realized.

Draco smirked to himself. _Why, thanks for that, Mudblood._

He closed the compartment door behind him.

"Petrificus Totalus!" he shouted and aimed his wand at the luggage stack above the seats.

A great thump was heard as something heavy toppled down to the floor. Draco saw two legs jutting out of thin air. He pulled the Invisibility Cloak aside.

"Just as I thought," he said triumphantly, looking down at a frozen, lifeless Potter. Only his eyes were able to move.

"It's funny how Granger ruined your little plan. Were you going to eavesdrop? Perhaps hear what I have to say? Well, here's your big chance, Potter. This is for my father."

He kicked Harry squarely in the face and heard a sickening crack under his foot.

He had broken something. _Good_.

Suddenly, he was not seeing Harry lying down before him, but someone else. A still head, framed by tangled hair, freckled skin turned alabaster white, wide brown eyes gleaming with a final spark of life.

Draco stepped back as if burnt.

He quickly pulled the Invisibility Cloak over Harry's body. The image, however, was stuck to his retina.

He tried to laugh, but it sounded hollow in his ears.

"Good luck getting off now, Potter. Chances are you're going straight back to London. See you around...or not."

With that, he turned and left the compartment, shutting the door behind him with a deafening click. Sweat was pouring down his forehead and his heart was erratic.

He walked down the corridor, one steady step at a time, trying to regain his composure.

He reasoned with himself that he was already on the right track. He had uncovered Potter's snooping, had punished him accordingly and – and he would kill his best friend.

When he climbed down onto the Hogsmeade Platform, he was relieved by the sudden rush of cold air biting his skin. He inhaled sharply. There were no stars in the sky tonight.

Just as well.

He looked up at the warm castle lights, glimmering in the distance. Perhaps there never had been any stars.

He ran a hand through his hair and smoothed it back down. His face had regained its usual air of indifference. He was not going to fail. Whatever happened, he was _not_ going to fail.


End file.
